Superman Ice Cream!
by binnibeans
Summary: England proves that he can be a hero, even if it's in the smallest of ways.


**A/N:** For **usxuk**'s Summer Camp event!

Day 01: Hero

_Since both of our boys have it in them to be heroes, this is a theme dedicated to that. The idea of a hero is fairly broad, and as such we're leaving it broad for you. Superheroes, military heroes, fairytale heroes, just-saving-the-day-heroes, personal heroes, everyday heroes, the list goes on._

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><p>America, while not always the brightest crayon in the box, is one of the nicer nations, and by <em>nicer<em>, England means _childlike_, but he's not going to go on and explain what he truly means. (Wonderful authors he may boast, but that does not mean that their communication skills and ways with words have been passed on to him.) A rather large hint to this is America's love for ice cream. This isn't normally a tip-off. It's a favorite of many, children and adults alike, and it definitely one of America's favorite treats. He's not always so willing to give it up, especially to just _anybody_, but what really gives it away is the flavor America chooses whenever it's available.

"Why can't I just have a taste?"

"Dude, you got your own ice cream! It's not my fault you got boring old vanilla."

England contorts his face into a small, upset pout. He doesn't mind vanilla in the least, but really: The blue, yellow, and pink – as daunting as they look – are just begging to be tasted. "All I want is a taste, America! A small lick!"

"Nuh-uh! This is _my _Superman ice cream. Either put up with old-man vanilla, or go back and get your own Superman ice cream cone!"

It's really not worth it to continue the small argument. By not sharing, America's likely saved England's taste buds; it probably tastes absolutely revolting. In defeat, England looks around the park, enjoying watching America's small children play around in jungle gyms, and slides, running around and laughing.

"Besides," America continues a moment later with a smug smirk on his face. England looks up for a moment. "You'd leave a nasty taste on my ice cream."

"Why, you—!" England begins. He's searching for something to say, anything to say, but he soon relaxes and counters with a smirk of his own. "You weren't complaining about me leaving nasty tastes last night, if I recall correctly."

"_Weareinpublic_,oh my God, England!" America hurriedly slaps a hand over England's mouth. "There are kids everywhere! I don't want my kids becoming perverts!" He retracts his hand quickly as England pulls his own childlike move and licks America's palm with a cold, sticky, vanilla-flavored tongue. In success he grins to himself as America "Ew!"s away ("God, England, that's so gross!"), and they settle into a small silence, walking on and passing groups of children as they played.

It isn't exactly monotonous: Every now and then a kid may scream particularly loudly, or another might fall and hurt themselves, but it is all expected. Besides the usual wince at particularly high-pitched screeches, everything seems fine as they finish their ice cream and eat their cones. In this set, the two walk by a group of bushes where from sniffling and a few soft groans of fright sound.

At first, both are ready to walk by and think nothing more of it, but then they realize that … crying shouldn't be coming from between a few bushes. England steals a glance at America, and they backtrack just a few steps, America crouching down and then laying flat on the ground to peer under the bushes as well as he can. England watches in slight amusement as he wriggles across the grass and mulch, closer and closer to the sniffling.

"Hey, what'cha doin' down here in the dirt?" America suddenly asks. "You're gonna get your dress all dirty, and it's a really pretty dress."

"Flatterer," England mumbles fondly with a carefully hidden grin.

The girl (England's pretty sure it's a girl, as boys aren't exactly always wont to wear dresses) must be responding, because America keeps talking and it continues for several moments before:

"I know what'll help you out! I'm gonna leave my friend Arthur here to stand guard over you, and I'll be right back, all right?"

Arthur's ears pick up in curiosity just before America hoists himself up swiftly and brushes the earth off of himself as he grins. England eyes him for a moment, silently asking what the problem was.

"Can't say," America says quietly. "Sworn to secrecy. I'm gonna go get her some ice cream. Will you talk to her and try to coax her out?"

"America, I'm not so sure I'm the one to do that; my track record with children isn't exactly the greatest." While he supposes no one can argue the insinuation in his tone, he can argue that he does rather like children. He doesn't mind the small assignment from America; he's just not sure how effective it's going to be.

"It'll be fine!" America insists. "I'll be right back!" With a swift kiss to England's cheek that makes them both turn just a little pink, America hurries back the way they came, leaving England to stare at the bushes. He's just a little (more than) unsure of just how to approach the situation. How does one try to coax a little girl they don't know out of the bushes? Shaking his head, England clears his throat and crouches down where America had flattened himself. "May I ask your name?" he asks.

It takes a few moments, but the girl sniffs and mumbles out an, "Emily."

England grins a bit and in a lighter tone, comments, "Emily? That's a beautiful name. I'm Arthur."

"Are you from London, Mister Arthur? You talk funny."

_F-funny? I do not speak in such a manner! _He bit his tongue a moment. "You could say that, yes. I'm English; I'm from England. London is the capital of England, just as Washington DC is the capital of the United States."

"Robin Hood is from England! Was Robin Hood real?" she asks hurriedly. There are a few sounds of rustling from the bushes, and England's eyebrows quirk upwards a bit in the hope that maybe she'll perhaps start to come out.

"Yes, he was." (Though many denounced it, England had met the man on many an occasion.)

"Was he really a fox?"

…England was going to have to have another little talk with America about the accuracy of his Disney movies, no matter how long ago it was made! "N-no, Love. Robin Hood was just like you and me."

"Aww…." She sniffs again, but not in the way she had been previously. She's quiet for a moment, then tentatively asks, "What about King Arthur? Was _he _real?"

England's face breaks into a grin, and he begins telling the little girl all about King Arthur and his adventures. Eventually she crawls out of the bushes, her blue eyes wide and her blonde hair a mess of twigs. She reminds him a little of when America was small, and cute, and all smiles; the girl even has his smile, almost, excited as she listens. He can see the stains where her tears had cleaned the dirt off of her cheeks, though there's no trace of sadness in her eyes. He finishes the story as he picks twigs out of her hair, and pulls out a wet wipe to clean the rest of the dirt off of her cheeks.

"Are you feeling better, Emily?"

She nods, her excited smile fading a little to mild contentment. "Yeah…. But I still dunno where Mommy is."

"Lost her, did you? Mums can be a little difficult to find once lost."

She grins, nodding once more.

"They can be found, though. You have to keep your head high, though, and never, _ever_, lose faith. You have to be strong, and brave."

"L-like a hero?"

England keeps his smile up for the girl's sake, nodding. This girl was, in fact, an all-American child….

"Exactly like a hero!"

Both England and Emily look over to see America returning, hiding something behind his back. He's just slightly out of breath, probably having run the way back and forth. His smile is wide. "You feelin' okay?" he asks her.

"I am. Mister Arthur told me about _King _Arthur, and told me that to find my mommy, I have to be a hero."

England blushes something fierce, looking away to avoid that intense, excited gaze of America's.

"Did he? That's pretty cool. So are you gonna be a hero?"

Emily nods quickly, hopping up to her feet. Out of habit, England reaches over and starts brushing the mulch and dirt and twigs off of her (rather cute) red, white, and blue (of _course_) dress, and reaffixes the red barrette in her hair. "I am!"

"Awesome! In that case, you can have this!" From behind him, America pulls out a – and England nearly facepalms at this – small, Superman ice cream cone. It takes a minute, but he pulls out another one and offers it to England as Emily's eyes grow wide and she starts eating it immediately.

England looks at the frozen treat being offered to him, and then glances to America, silently asking why he was being given his own Superman ice cream cone.

America shrugs. "I think you were pretty heroic, and all heroes deserve Superman ice cream." Pink powders over his cheeks and ears, and England stutters out a 'thank you' as he takes the treat. He's interrupted as he goes to take the first lick, a whimper from Emily's direction catching both his and America's attentions.

A few tears have welled up in her eyes, and she ducks her head down, squeezing her eyes shut. England grins as he recognizes her brain freeze, and gently rubs at her shoulder.

The freeze passes, and as she eats the ice cream more slowly, Emily tells them where she had been separated from her mom. She becomes a little sad again, but America scoops her up into his arms and they begin walking in the direction Emily points to. (England, meanwhile, gets to try his Superman ice cream. …It's only okay, and he is most definitely not going to tell America that.) When her ice cream and cone are finished, America puts the girl on his shoulders and they run ahead – England starts to run after at first, then realizes there's no way he's going to keep up; they'll stop soon, anyway – as America makes whooshing and flying noises.

It only takes a few minutes before England has finished his second ice cream cone, and Emily spots her frantic-looking mother excitedly. America puts her down and she gives both he and England a quick hug, and salutes them before running off.

Making sure she reaches her mother, America and England stay put and wave to the two as the mother nods her thanks and Emily waves goodbye, immediately going into, England assumes, how Robin Hood and King Arthur were real, how she was saved by two heroes, and how she herself had become a hero.

"So I think we need a superhero name for me, and a sidekick name for you."

"Sidekick?" England repeats. "I'm the one who bloody got her out of there, cleaned her up, and _cheered _her up!"

"Well I'm the one who took her to her mom _and_ got her (and you!) ice cream!"

"Because I was a hero, you said."

America turns bright red as they start walking again. "I-I said you were hero_ic_!"

"You said! 'All heroes are deserving of Superman ice cream.' You said I was a hero! I want the superhero name—!"

It strikes England just what they're arguing about, and what he's arguing for. Almost like it's second nature, he speeds his pace up, hiding his red, red face away from America. He's glad, deep down, that America had thought so much of him to call him a hero, something America reserved normally for himself and his Marvel and DC comic characters, so it was quite the honor and compliment – even if a rather odd one.

America grabbed his hand, though, slowing him down, and they escorted each other back to America's apartment.

(England would later refuse to actually watch _Superman_, he doesn't, "Care who's in it!" It would make America revoke his title of 'hero,' even if only jokingly, but England would be happy enough to still see that appointed honor shine in America's eyes.)

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><p>END<p> 


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